BANG!
Johir's fist collided with the gang leader's face, sending a sharp echo through the campus.
The leader's head snapped sideways. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
But he didn't fall.
Instead, he slowly turned his head back, wiped the blood with his thumb, and grinned.
"Now this is more like it."
CLASH!
The two charged again.
Johir moved like a beast unchained—his body no longer moved with human rhythm. His fists flew with reckless fury, each punch swinging with brutal intention. Not a trained style. Not a martial art. It was pure, raw, primal rage.
Left hook.
Uppercut.
Elbow strike.
The gang leader blocked the first two, the elbow cracked against his collarbone—but he didn't back off. He ducked low, slammed his knee into Johir's gut, then launched a clean punch to his face.
Johir stumbled back, spit and blood flying from his mouth.
But he didn't fall either.
He smiled.
Eyes wild. Hair messy. Knuckles bloodied.
Then—he charged again.
Their fists clashed like thunder and lightning.
Johir grabbed the leader's collar and headbutted him once. Twice. A third time.
CRACK!
Blood poured from both their brows.
The gang leader retaliated with a spinning elbow that slammed into Johir's temple, staggering him. Then came a knee strike to his ribs—fast and heavy.
Johir gasped, but before he could recover—
CRASH!
He was hurled into a parked bike, metal crunching under his weight.
"JOHIR!!" Shams yelled.
He ran to help—but then—
BROOM! BROOM!
More engines roared.
More bikes arrived—another wave of GxU members.
At least fifteen.
They jumped off, eyes wild, weapons ready.
Shams turned around—dozens already lay unconscious on the ground. Shahin was down. Johir was locked in battle.
Now he was the only one standing between these new thugs and his fallen classmates.
His fists clenched.
His chest heaved.
He looked back once at Johir, then faced the incoming gang members.
"All right," he whispered to himself, popping his neck. "Let's dance."
SWOOSH!
A bat came swinging at his head.
Shams ducked low, swept the guy's leg, and punched his chin mid-fall.
THUMP! The thug collapsed.
Another charged with a chain.
Shams caught the chain mid-air, yanked the guy forward, and kneed him straight in the face. Blood sprayed.
Then a rod came swinging—
Shams blocked it with his forearm, grunted from the pain, and kicked the thug back. But three more rushed in behind them.
His arms ached. Blood ran down his lip. But he didn't stop moving.
He ducked, sidestepped, countered.
A punch to the throat.
A jab to the nose.
He grabbed one by the shirt and headbutted him hard enough to send him flying.
Clang!
One caught him in the ribs with a rod. He stumbled, coughed, then roared—
And slammed his elbow into the attacker's jaw.
They kept coming.
But so did Shams.
He fought like a storm. Like a man possessed.
He wasn't trained. But he was furious.
And that fury was enough.
—Meanwhile—
Johir pulled himself up from the wrecked bike.
His lip split. His breath ragged. But his eyes…
Still burning.
The gang leader cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders.
"You're still standing? Not bad. You're pissing me off."
Johir smiled through blood. "Then I'm doing something right."
BOOM!
They clashed again.
Fists, knees, elbows—no style. No rules.
The gang leader threw Johir to the ground and tried to stomp his head—but Johir rolled, caught his leg, and twisted—slamming him down.
They wrestled in the dirt, blood smearing across their faces.
Johir climbed on top—punched once, twice, thrice.
The gang leader caught his arm and elbowed his jaw.
Both stumbled back.
Blood. Dust. Shattered breath.
They charged once more—
CRACK!
A punch landed at the same time from both.
They both staggered.
Their knees buckled.
And then—
They collapsed.
Face-down in the dirt.
Unmoving.
—Back to Shams—
The last of the thugs backed off, terrified.
Shams stood alone, wobbling on his feet. Face swollen. Eyes half-shut.
He looked toward Johir and the gang leader.
Both were down.
Silence.
No one moved.
Shams dropped to one knee, panting. Blood dripping from his fists.
But he didn't smile.
He didn't cheer.
He just whispered…
"…We protected each other."
Then his body slumped forward, unconscious.
The scene faded into stillness.
Battered bodies. Broken rods. Faint groans in the wind.
But in the middle of it all—
Three boys lay side by side.
Shahin. Johir. Shams.
Bloodied. Bruised.
But undefeated.
Whisper!... Whisper!
Scream!... Scream!...
Talking!... Talking!...
Distant noises floated like echoes inside a cave.
Shahin's eyelids twitched.
His breath caught in his throat as his senses slowly returned, piece by piece.
A sharp white light above.
The sterile scent of antiseptic.
The gentle beep... beep... of machines.
With a weak groan, he forced his eyes open. The ceiling spun.
He tried to sit up—
"Aahh!"
Pain shot through his torso like a jolt of lightning. His body screamed in protest.
He looked down.
His entire chest and arms were wrapped in bandages. Even his legs felt heavy and stiff under the sheets.
"What the hell…" he whispered, blinking.
He slowly turned his head to the right.
Johir.
Lying on a hospital bed. Cuts and bruises still fresh. Arm in a sling. Bandages on his face.
Unconscious.
He turned to the left.
Shams.
Face swollen. A bandage around his head. One hand wrapped tightly. Still, chest rising and falling—alive.
Shahin's heart squeezed.
He looked around. The room was filled with beds, patients, nurses moving in and out, murmurs of families and quiet sobs of others. A government hospital ward. Crowded but controlled.
He gathered whatever strength he had left.
"…We're in a hospital?"
His throat was dry. His voice barely audible.
"What happened after I fell unconscious...? What happened to Johir… and Shams?"
He tried again to sit up—
"Aaaagh!"
Nope. Still hurt like hell.
Just then, a nurse in light green scrubs entered, holding a chart. Her eyes widened when she saw him awake.
"Oh! You're up! Shahin, right?"
"…Umm… yeah." His voice cracked. "But—what happened to us? Why are we here?"
The nurse glanced at her clipboard, then looked at him with a kind but tired smile.
"I don't know the full story… but when you three were brought here, all of you were injured pretty badly. Deep bruises, broken bones, internal bleeding... You've all been unconscious for two days."
Shahin's jaw dropped. "T-Two days?! Whaaat—how is that even…?"
His heart thudded.
Then something else clicked in his mind.
"Wait… who brought us here?"
The nurse paused.
"Oh… that? The guy who brought you three… he was waiting around for a while. Stayed until your reports were stable. He's still here, I think."
She raised her hand and pointed across the room, toward the far end—near the corridor doors.
Shahin slowly turned his head.
There stood a man.
Tall. Wearing a long black coat over a simple shirt. Talking on the phone. Half in shadow. Serious expression.
Then the man turned slightly—just enough for Shahin to see his face.
Shahin's eyes widened.
"...No way."
His heart pounded like a drum.
That face…
That man…